Kana's house was like a sculpture made of glass.
Though it resembled the translucent silver material of the iron and aluminum forest, it wasn't cold or rigid like metal. Instead, it was crafted from soft, glowing glass. The walls, roof, garden, entrance, even the nameplate—everything was formed from vibrant, multicolored glass. Not entirely transparent, the hues blended in a gradient, faintly translucent, giving the house a dreamlike, fantastical quality.
"What a strange house," I remarked. "And so beautiful."
The two-story home shimmered as light danced across its glass surfaces, filling my vision with vivid colors. The structure, a harmonious blend of elegant curves and straight lines, was a fusion of art and traditional architecture.
I felt a growing urge to step inside and see the interior of this mesmerizing place.
"Thanks," Kana said, a hint of pride in her voice.
"My dad's an architect, actually. At first, I thought, 'A see-through house? What about privacy?' and I didn't like it. But there's no one else in this forest, so it's fine."
"Really?"
"Yeah. It's just our family of three in this forest. There's even a rumor that my dad created the forest itself."
"A rumor?" I tilted my head. "Why not just ask him directly?"
"I've asked tons of times, but he never answers."
"Why not?"
"No idea," Kana said. "He just clams up when it comes to the forest. I don't care that much, so I gave up asking."
"Hmm. Want me to try asking him?"
"He probably won't tell you either. Plus, he's not home right now. Super busy."
As we talked, we made our way toward the house.
We passed through a glass gate and stepped into what could be called a garden, also made of glass. The ground sparkled faintly with each step, emitting a soft, resonant sound. I turned to Kana.
"So, just your mom's home right now?"
"Nope, our pet Tally-chan's there too."
"A pet?" My curiosity piqued. "What's it made of? Protein?"
"No way," Kana giggled. "Protein pets are way too expensive, and the legal regulations are strict. We're not that rich."
"So, what kind of pet?"
"Just standard carbon material."
"Nice. What type?"
"A cat."
"Cool," I said, relieved. "If it was a dog, I might've had some issues. I'm kind of allergic."
"Really?" Kana's eyes widened. "Allergies are so weird. Do humans get allergic to carbon pets too?"
"…"
Damn. I mentally kicked myself. I'd forgotten I was pretending to be human, and my memory was failing me like a goldfish. Brushing off the self-deprecating thought that I must be a low-spec model, I kept my poker face.
"No, not a physical allergy. I just have this psychological resistance to dogs as a species."
"What, you don't like dogs? They're so cute!"
"It's that over-the-top cuteness I can't handle."
"…Really?"
In an instant, Kana's expression changed.
The charming, polite demeanor she'd had until now vanished, as if sucked away by a vacuum cleaner.
It was a drastic shift, like she'd become a different person.
Compared to my flimsy poker face, her transformation was so complete it was as if she'd been reborn as another entity. I couldn't help but catch my breath.
"Seiri-san, right?"
"Yes," she replied.
Her voice carried a cold, mechanical edge.
Gone was the sweet, soft tone like white chocolate; it was replaced by a stark, bitter chill, like unsweetened iced black coffee.
"I'm Kana Seiri. Is there a problem?"
"No, not a problem," I stammered, increasingly flustered. "It's just… you suddenly seem like a different person. I'm kind of confused. Did you use a hologram or something?"
"No. I merely adjusted my expression settings. Is there anything unsatisfactory?"
"No, it's not that."
I struggled to find words.
"I guess I just liked the old Kana better. This version's cool, sure, but… maybe a bit too cold?"
Her expression shifted again.
It wasn't the charming high school girl I'd first met, nor the sharp, icy figure from moments ago. It was something in between—neutral, almost inorganic, devoid of flavor or emotion.
Both versions had their own appeal, but this felt… wrong.
"Did I say something about resisting forced cuteness that bothered you too much?"
"Of course it bothered me," she said. "I don't want you to dislike me, Neo-kun."
I gave a small smile.
"It's fine. I don't dislike you. I just meant I'm not into things that are too cute, like dogs. I actually like cute things. You weren't overdoing it at all, so you can stay the way you were. This new version feels… kind of lonely."
"…Really?"
For a moment, regret flashed across her face, as if she'd made a grave mistake. But then, she reverted to the original Kana Seiri. Seeing her back to normal, I felt certain in my core:
Yes, this is the default Kana that suits her best.
I caught myself slipping into an arrogant mindset, judging her like that. Maybe it's a bad habit of an older model, neutralizing vague anxieties about newer generations with rational evaluations. Or maybe my circuits are just weird.
I don't even know how new Kana's model is.
In the end, I still know nothing.
And honestly, I kind of liked this "knowing nothing" state.
As my thoughts spiraled into a mild glitch, a familiar error-like sensation hit me.
Kana's clear voice cut through the darkness, pulling me back to reality.
"Is this okay?"
Her face, now back to its default—golden hair, blue eyes, and that charming Kana Seiri expression—filled me with relief. It was as if my core components pulsed gently, my joint motors whirring softly, a warm sensation coursing through me.
Maybe I instinctively dislike change—especially sudden change. I crave newness, yet I'm terrified of it. How ridiculous.
"Never…"
I spoke low, almost growling. No, this was a command.
The first time I'd ever given her one.
"Never stray from that form again."
Kana's eyes lit up, and she nodded repeatedly with a radiant smile.
"Okay. I'll never stray, I promise."
"…Don't change."
"I won't. Not ever. You can count on it."
Her voice was like a gentle breeze brushing across lunar sand.
We stood there, gazing into each other's eyes.
Probably ten seconds. To my processing speed, it felt like a moment, but to Kana's high-speed processor, it might've been an eternity, like a star being born and fading in a supernova. I felt a little guilty, but from now on, I'd make her match my slower pace.
I wanted her to feel the taste of slowness.
"So, can you show me around your house, Kana?"
I turned my gaze back to her home—the fantastical glass structure—and asked gently. But Kana didn't move.
She stood still, staring straight at me.
Her blue eyes held a faint trace of dissatisfaction, though even that didn't detract from her default, charming politeness.
I asked, "What's wrong? Aren't we going in?"
Kana pursed her lips slightly and spoke.
"Before we do, I have a question."
"What?"
"Why'd you suddenly call me by my last name?"
"Huh? Did I?"
"Yes, you did."
Her voice carried clear dissatisfaction—bordering on anger. It was the first time Kana Seiri had shown genuine anger toward me.
Sensing it, I teased her a little.
"Was that bad?"
"Absolutely!" she declared firmly.
"I have a request too. Never call me by my last name."
"Why not? Seiri's a pretty cool name, don't you think?"
"That's not the point! You're doing this on purpose, aren't you? I can tell. I've got the latest software—I can see through stuff like this in a heartbeat. So stop messing around."
"…Sorry."
I apologized sincerely.
"Okay, I'll call you by your first name from now on."
"Try it."
"Kana."
"One more time."
"Kana-chan."
"No '-chan'!"
I got scolded again. Chastened, I corrected myself.
"Kana."
"Yeah."
"Kana. Is that okay?"
"Yeah, that's perfect."
The cute indignation on Kana's face faded like a receding tide, replaced by her soft, glowing smile.
"No other names, ever. Got it?"
"Got it. I'll stick to that."
And so, a small but certain contract was formed between us.